Scarred Sanity

2017.11.11 I don't often write love poems, so this one is a rarity.

I am a tortured beggar.

I can still taste our malfeasance upon my lips.

The aphrodisia and hunger

Left as a memento upon my soul

smolders;

An agonizing pain in my chest,

One that makes my knees weak every time

I think of you.

I have become a dichotomy of thought

Versus action,

part rational

part animal.

With whispered introspection

I question everything;

Condemn my very existence.

The immorality in my mind,

Unfamiliar clutter

            these days,

A butcher that rips me to shreds.

An internal rebellion,

Fighting for social control,

irrational

In it’s push for monochromatic personal politics.

But… still,

the taste of you upon my lips,

the fire in my chest,

the memory of your warmth

as the cold winter air slowly pushed us

closer together

is dementedly

intoxicating.

This is what I have always imagined true love to be…

… and it is f*****g tearing me

apart.